


Behind Closed Doors

by Ace_Of_Clubs, liddell_alien



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Pre-Series, Rating May Change, Sexual Tension, This is My Design, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Clubs/pseuds/Ace_Of_Clubs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/liddell_alien/pseuds/liddell_alien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Pre series]<br/>Hannibal Lecter is a prominent psychiatrist, he is used to talking about his patients during his own private sessions with his own doctor, and one particular patient captures the attention of them both. Whilst one isn’t able to help her, maybe the other will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

Bach’s _We Sit Down In Tears_ was playing in the back of his mind, as he was deep in thought, inside his memory palace.

Images of his past were flooding inside one of the rooms he visited more often than the others. He could see the snowflakes falling from the sky, he could hear the chattering teeth of the children who were suffering from the cold, next to him.

He could feel Mischa’s scared  eyes burning into his skull, as a man grabbed her and dragged her away.

Red flashed before his eyes, the whiteness of the snow was corrupted by Mischa’s bright red blood.

_Knock knock._

Upon hearing the knocks, Mischa was gone. The music was gone too. He was back in his empty study.

Sitting still behind his desk, Hannibal Lecter waited a few more seconds before re-acclimating  to reality.

He would often do that – visit his memory palace, between one session and the other. He lowered his eyes, raised his left wrist, and noticed it was five o’clock already.

Sometimes he got lost in the many rooms of  his vast palace, losing the track of time.

 _Knock knock_.

Again, that sound ruined the absolute silence. If the door was closed, it was surely for a reason.

Five o’clock on the first Monday of April. It was a new patient, he was always thrilled by new patients.

He hadn’t spoken directly to her, but with her father. The man was severely concerned about his daughter’s mental health. He told him she had several episodes of blackouts and sleepwalking.

The causes could be any number of things, he had accepted the case right away, curious to meet another puzzle to solve.

He got up, the chair didn’t make a sound.

He walked to the door and opened it, before anyone could knock again. A man was standing behind it, with his arm raised and his fist closed, ready to do so.

Hannibal smiled and reached out his hand, to greet the visitor; as he did so the man stepped back and lowered his arm. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Mr. Wallace, I presume”.

The man smiled back, and greeted the doctor with a firm handshake. “Yes,” he nodded, “and this is my daughter Pamela”.

The origins of the surname were Scottish, but Mr. Wallace didn’t sound Scottish. He didn’t even have an American accent, to be honest. Perhaps their families roots went back to European origins.

Pamela Wallace was standing behind her father, her head lowered and her eyes hidden. She was clearly uncomfortable. She also didn’t seem inclined to greet him with a handshake or a smile, so he just stepped back, against the open door. “Please, come in” Hannibal said to the woman before him, “Mr. Wallace, you can wait here if you want, I will give you your daughter back in an hour”.

The other man laughed lightly, but discomfort flashed in his eyes for a mere second.

Almost unsteady on her own feet, Pamela stepped into the doctor’s office as he closed the door behind them.

The study was vast, and carefully decorated. It was welcoming and warm, but she wasn’t looking at the massive desk, or the myriad of books that adorned the shelves. She was staring at her feet, her hands joined in her lap.

“Please, take a seat, Pamela” Hannibal’s voice was friendly and considerate. She looked frightened, too and fragile for a place like this.

The woman was petite; as she walked past him she left a trail of a peculiar scent. Jasmines and wild blackberries, with a hint of  pink pepper, extremely sweet.

She waited until he sat on an armchair and then she took her place in front of him.

Pamela sat on the edge of the armchair, breathing heavily and with her head still lowered, while Hannibal was comfortably reclined in the armchair.

She had her long black hair braided in a singular braid on her right shoulder, it was slightly asymmetrical but not enough to bother him. She was possibly left-handed.

“So,” Hannibal smiled at the woman. He saw her eyes studying the place around her, behind him – avoiding his figure as if she was pretending to be alone. “Why are you here, Pamela?”

Her body stiffened slightly, and she raised her head. Her eyes widened a little as she caught her breath. For a split second their eyes met – she had beautiful icy blue eyes, her skin was pale and fresh. She was wearing just a little bit of make-up, so that she would not catch anyone’s attention.

“I—” she started gasping, and turned her head away, clenching her fists in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she continued, still facing the wall behind Hannibal. “My father told me he’s already spoke to you about me”.

Her words were just a whisper, so soft that if anybody else would have been in the room, Hannibal would have been the only one to have heard her.

Pamela’s accent was even more peculiar than her father’s, definitely European. A mixture between British and just a hint of French.

“Indeed, he has,” he told her, and her shoulder lowered as she relaxed a little. “But I wanted to hear your point of view, Pamela. You’re my patient, not your father”.

The woman in front of him jerked her face away, closing her eyes for a few seconds, breathing heavily. Once she opened her eyes again, Hannibal could see her pupils had dilated; her clenched fists trembled, until her whole body was shaking.

She pursed her lips, biting them and breathing hard through her nose.

If she was going to have a panic attack, Hannibal was curious to see how she’d dealt with it.

Shaking her head ‘no’, she stood up and turned her back to him. She wasn’t going to leave – her father was waiting for her outside, she was supposed to be in here for an hour, and only ten minutes had passed.

She was probably counting the time in her head, thinking about how many possibilities she had to escape with an excuse.

“This is a safe place, Pamela” Hannibal said, still sitting on his armchair, “You can talk freely”.

His words didn’t convince her. She stayed silent for five minutes, looking at the walls, the books and the pictures. Pamela’s steps were weak and uncertain, Hannibal suspected an abusive parent.

He had no data of previous psychiatric evaluations, her father hadn’t mentioned any.

“Tell me about the blackouts” he asked, finally, in a soft voice.

Pamela didn’t even flinch, she was staring in awe at a great picture of a landscape. It was an exact replica of Jacob van Ruisdael’s _The Windmill of Wijk bij Duurstede_. Her eyes couldn’t stop admiring the dark clouds, and the glimpse of the sky that matched her eye colour.

She never replied, lost in her thoughts, the woman walked through his study, looking at the pictures and the books, sometimes she dared touching the cover of some of them.

Hannibal let her explore the room she was trapped inside for another half an hour without disturbing her. He studied her body. She was quite short and slim, she had the body of a classical dancer.

Her clothes were dark, deep blue jeans with a black blouse and a light grey scarf around her neck. Perhaps it was there to hide the signs of violence.

Her shoes were new, simple black ballerinas. Taking a closer look at her jeans, he noticed some thin light animal hair, too thick to belong to a cat – perhaps a dog, or a bunny.

She seemed to be calm when she turned her back to the painting and walked to her armchair. She sat down slowly and rested her elbows on her knees, interlacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. She closed her eyes and tears appeared in the corner of them.

Two big tears rolled down her cheeks, but she said nothing. She was pretending to be invisible, she was hoping to be invisible – she would have died to become invisible.

She didn’t trust Hannibal one bit, and he could not blame her. It was their first session, and trust in his job was the most important thing; it was essential. Without trust, they wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Being completely uncomfortable in his presence, Hannibal could think of a repulsion for men in general; maybe it was her father that abused her – mentally or physically, or perhaps both.

When he spoke to him to the phone, Mr. Wallace seemed a boring middle class man, worried about his daughter’s odd behaviour, but maybe there was something more behind these two people.

He wanted to know about the mother, but there was no way Pamela would answer such a question now. So he let her be, she cried for a while – eyes closed, breathing slowly. When she was done crying, her face looked tired and her eyes had reddened.

The hour had passed and she seemed to be extremely relieved.

 _Knock knock_.

She jumped to her feet, her face turned towards the door and she had to control herself not to rush and run away. She waited for Hannibal to rise from his armchair and he walked her to the door, his smile still in place.

Once the door was open, Mr. Wallace was waiting outside, standing on his feet, his hands joined behind his back. “So,” he smiled to his daughter and the doctor, “how did it go?”

Pamela turned her head towards Hannibal, and he could see the panic in her eyes. She feared betrayal, he could almost hear her heart pounding in her chest in agony.

Hannibal smiled to Pamela’s father and let his daughter step forward, placing a hand on her back, without actually touching her. “I’m sorry, sir” he said, politely. “But what happens during our sessions is strictly confidential. It is your daughter’s decision whether to share the information or not”.

Pamela stiffened before him, but stepped towards her father and lowered her head. She took her place behind him, her eyes were staring at her feet. She was thinking about home, maybe.

“See you next week, then, Pamela?” Hannibal asked, and the woman raised her head, surprise was in her eyes – even shock, maybe.

She didn’t even have the time to answer before her father did that in her place. “Of course she will,” he said and took his daughter’s arm under his. “See you next week, Doctor Lecter”.

 


	2. Motionless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Hannbal and Pamela's next session, something goes wrong.

“ _Those who restrain their desires, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained_ ” Hannibal’s voice filled her spacious living room.

Bedelia’s weekly hour with Hannibal was always a challenge to her. She’d wondered to whom his next quote would belong to and whether she could identify the source or not. This one was by Willam Blake, but she never gave the answer out loud.

She curled her lips in an acknowledging smile and lowered her eyes. She eyed the watch on her left wrist, without being noticed – only fifteen minutes left. “This is not what we were talking about, Hannibal” she said, and re-arranged her position on the comfortably designed armchair.

Hannibal returned the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes – they never did, and she always pretended thatshe didn’t notice.

He was the master of changing the subject. But this was a psychiatric session, not a friendly chat. He knew he couldn’t avoid her questions for long. “I barley talked to her,” he admitted. “She was reluctant, scared. I was under the impression that she has an abusive parent – possibly her father, I don’t know anything about her mother”.

Hannibal’s new patients were always an interesting topic of conversation. Bedelia’s job was to understand why he’d picked them – even, no, especially when the reason was unclear to him.

Pamela Wallace seemed a common woman, there was nothing special about her.  But Hannibal saw something others didn’t, and she wanted to see it too.

“Why would an abusive father bring his own daughter to see a doctor?” she asked, curious to know his point of view.

“Why, indeed?” his voice didn’t change, but Bedelia saw a flash – it was just a split second – but she saw a light shine in Hannibal’s eyes. It happened more and more often that she was able to _see_ the real Hannibal, behind his veil. She still had to clarify if it was his intention to show what  he was showing her or not. “I am firmly convinced that her noctambulism is due to psychological causes, rather than external ones”.

“What about the blackouts?”

“She did not dissociate during our session, but she had to deal with the beginning of a panic attack – she was very used to it, my intervention was not needed”.

“You told me she has spoken very little”.

“Only to inform me that her father had told me everything I needed to know about her”.

Bedelia stayed quiet, her smile was gone from her face; a serious expression had replaced it. She averted her eyes for a moment, thinking about what to say next. She joined her hands on her knee and inhaled deeply. Knowing so little about one’s patient was a problem. “Do you believe she’s ready to be pushed?”

“I had thought to ask her some questions, but she seemed to be in no condition to answer me,” Hannibal straightened his back and lowered his head. “I will have to figure it out during our next session”.

Bedelia exhaled, eyeing the watch again. His time was up. She smiled at him and rose from her seat, he cleared his throat and did the same. “I am not supposed to give you professional advice,” she told him, walking to her kitchen counter and taking out two glasses. “White or red?” she asked absent-minded.

“Red” he answered.

Bedelia picked up a bottle from her cellar and poured the wine into the glasses. “But…” she said, without looking up, “as a friend, I would suggest you to try and make her talk, see if she’s able to carry on a neutral conversation”.

Hannibal smiled another of his cold smiles, and accepted the glass Bedelia was handing him. “As a friend, I accept your advice…” he nodded, without speaking another word.

*

Hannibal and Pamela’s next session started exactly like the first one.

Her father walked her to the door, he left her in Hannibal’s study, the doctor closed the door and she sat in silence, staring at her feet.

Was she going to say something this time? He had to test her. “Tell me about your family” he asked and studied her reaction.

Pamela clenched her fists, nervously and she bit her lip. It took her a few seconds to decide whether she wanted to answer or not. “I’ve got a little dog – his name’s Olly” she said with a weak voice. “You know my father” she added and then stayed quiet.

He was right about the dog, then. He smiled to her, but she couldn’t see him because her eyes were fixed on her shoes. They weren’t the same as last week, she was wearing brown oxford shoes, along with a lovely light blue, long sleeved dress, with a peter pan collar shirt underneath. Hannibal wondered if she chose her clothes herself.

Her perfume was the same, her dark hair was styled in an elegant and neat bun. She seemed to be very careful and considerate about her appearance. “Are you a classic dancer?” he ventured, with a hint of affability in his voice.

Pamela was definitely taken by surprise, she caught her breath and raised her eyes. For a moment Hannibal thought she was going to say something important, then she shrugged and lowered her head. “I was”.

“Why did you stop?”

“Father was no longer happy with me being a dancer”.

“Why not?”

She hesitated, looked up to him and then moved her eyes to the left, thinking. “I fell, almost broke my ankle, he was afraid something would happen to me” she lied.

“This is not the truth,” he simply stated and Pamela closed her eyes.

“It is” she confirmed.

Hannibal sighed, he had to earn her trust. “Have you ever been to the opera?” he casually asked – leaning back against the armchair.

The woman kept her eyes closed and tightened her lips together, but she nodded feverishly.

“Is your mother still alive?” the question wasn’t pertinent, but this time she didn’t react. She stayed quiet and still. For a moment she looked as if she was asleep. Hannibal noticed that behind her closed lids, her eyes were moving furiously right and left.

He left his armchair and knelt next to his patient, he looked at the clock on his left wrist to check the time and then he felt her pulse. It was regular and stable.

Hannibal carefully opened her eyelids, her pupils were completely dilated. That state of catatonia could be triggered by several external factors.

Keeping an eye on her, Hannibal went to his desk and took out a notebook, he started writing on it with his perfect handwriting.

Catatonia was not recognised as a separate disorder, but it was associated with many psychiatric conditions such as post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, depression… or it could be an encephalitis.

He tried to move her arm, and when he let it go, it stayed in place. Waxy flexibility was something he did not see every day. Hannibal put her arm back where it was, and checked the watch again. He closed her eyes and waited patiently.

The reasons behind this behaviour could be many, he was almost sure there was nothing wrong with her brain, but it was all a psychological matter – he couldn’t be sure, though.

Knowing this was the only time he could do it, he opted to use his time to examine her  body for abuse signs.

Her neck was clear, her wrists too. She had too little make up to cover up bruises, her arms and legs were pale and dotted with a few freckles, but no ecchymosis. He also checked both of her ankles, to see if there were any sings of previous traumas, and they were both perfectly healthy, as he suspected.

Forty-five minutes later, Hannibal found himself sketching her portrait with a black pen on a white sheet of paper. She wasn’t sitting on his armchair in his drawing. She was dancing, dressed like a nymph, her arms pulled backwards and her back arched.

Few minutes later, he sensed her eyes on him and he stopped abruptly. His eyes rose from the drawing and he noticed her fragile figure shaking like a leaf in the wind. Hannibal stood up slowly, but she jerked away scared, anyways.

She stumbled back, and fell against a bookshelf. “Don’t—” she stuttered, “don’t touch me”.

Hannibal joined his hands behind his back, he was towering several feet from her. “It wasn’t my intention to touch you, or to harm you in any way” he said, very calmly. “Has your father ever harmed you?” he asked, in the very same tone of voice. Her eyes were blank. “What about your mother?” once again, there was nothing in her eyes.

The doctor lowered his head, breathing through his nose. His figure was perfectly still, while the only other person in the room couldn’t stop shaking.

“The most important thing in a relationship between a doctor and his patient is mutual trust” he said, stepping forward and she didn’t move. “You lied to me, and you keep doing it. You realise that I can’t help you if you act like this?”

She opened her mouth and her lips trembled. “I—” she said, as two big tears formed in the corner of her big icy blue eyes, “I didn’t lie”.

She was a spectacular actress, Hannibal thought. It must have taken her years of practice. “Would it make you more comfortable if instead of me, you had a woman for a doctor?” he could remind her of her father, hence the lack of trust.

She shook her head ‘no’. “Father would never allow me to—” she sobbed, placing a hand on her chest, trying to calm herself as the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

Hannibal’s voice was lacking any emotion. “I am asking you, not your father”.

Pamela opened her mouth again, she was about to say something, when…

 _Knock knock_.

Hannibal felt a tinge of anger in his stomach, but it was soon tamed as he looked down at his watch and noticed their time was up.

He offered his hand to help her on her feet, but she refused.

It was clear that she had been crying, but her father didn’t seem to notice. He smiled at her and took her under his arm, greeting Hannibal with a handshake.

“Mr. Wallace,” he tried before they could leave, “would it be a problem if I suggest your daughter to another doctor?”

The look on his face was peculiar. Surprise and fear, Hannibal wondered how he’d found him. “Why?” he asked, alarmed. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Hannibal smiled, joining his feet and standing straight, “but I’ve noticed that your daughter is very perplexed about the therapy, I was thinking maybe it wasn’t her choice to come here, or perhaps _I_ wasn’t her choice” he said.

“I don’t think she’s perplexed about anything,” his father laughed nervously. “She’s only a bit nervous, she always is. Isn’t it true, Pam?” he asked and she nodded immediately.

“May I suggest a friend of mine,” Hannibal continued, “I think _Pam_ could feel more comfortable talking to a woman”.

“No” his father replied, this time it was a statement. “I think you’re the one for my daughter, I don’t believe any other doctor— even worse, a woman, could be better for my daughter”.

He didn’t believe that a woman could be better for her daughter, perhaps he didn’t believe a woman could do a man’s job. The idea was very irritating to him. “Can I ask you how did you come by my references?”

The man looked at his daughter for a brief second, she looked like a pretty doll in its owners hands. “I don’t see why this is a relevant piece of information” he said, and guided Pam towards the front door. “I am sure she will take positives from your sessions, I will bring her here next week, same time” he rushed, and then they were gone.

Such a peculiar duo, he thought, as in walked through his study, bringing his hands to his chin and re-playing the events of the past hour in his mind palace.

He couldn’t wait to talk about the events of the day to Bedelia, during their next session. Perhaps she’d agree to meet Pamela. He was impatient to have all the pieces to put the puzzle together, but he had to be careful and patient, it was the only way.


End file.
